My Life in Pipes - Introduction

This really doesn’t need an introduction, but it makes things look serious, and almost all the books I read have one. I don’t like introductions. When I pick up, say, “David Copperfield” it is for the contents alone and not insights, or commentaries on why the author wanted to write this particular book. If I wanted to know those things, I would have become an academic or critic or have an inquisitive attitude about the book in question. No, I merely want the diversion from a hard day at the computer dealing with all of you and your multitudinous idiosyncrasies. Plus, some, if not most, introductions seem to come from people like me, who, once they start typing and getting their thoughts on paper, can’t stop. An introduction of say a page and a half would be acceptable. Fifteen pages? Ridiculous. That’s not an introduction, that’s an essay. (Jazz has, in my opinion, a similar problem. Rock n Roll, Pop, The Great American Song Book, even Hip Hop & Rap know enough about the attention span of the average human to keep the song to 5 min. or less. In Jazz, you’ll find a trumpeter blowing the same 3 notes for 5 min. No wonder it’s so hard to make a living being a jazz musician. If you’re playing for yourself and making private art, fine…go on for 24 hours for all we care, but if you want paying customers, you’ve got to cater at least somewhat to their needs and desires and know when the f… to stop, and leave them wanting more. It’s not a hard concept. And if you’re an uncompromising artist and insist on doing it your way, don’t complain when others don’t agree enough to pay for the questionable privilege of encouraging your obsession. A professor teaching advanced Quantum Physics can not whine if only 5 students show up for his course. )
This introduction is to let you know two things, if I can stop myself from typing and limiting it to just two: because I can’t think of how else to fill up this space a, I’ve decided to type out, in chapters, my life in pipes. Most definitely, this is at least as much for my edification as for yours. A need to write things down is in me. Also, I tend to forget and am forgetting more and more. It might, in some very small way, add to the history of this hobby. To that end, my trusty, loyal friend Nanosh is going to set up a page on which each chapter can be placed, prior to me plunging on. The chapters will be on a page titled, oh so cleverly, My Life in Pipes. I’ll attempt a chronological onslaught to the 45 years this pipe stuff has been going on, but expect a lot of back and forths as thoughts arise.
The other aspect is the biographical tone of this; it would be nice if my daughter had a different view of her father as someone other than the ogre that wouldn’t let her go skiing with her friends because she didn’t even give us a full day’s notice and we had no idea who was chaperoning, etc. So, all this might not be limited to pipes, especially if I start towards the beginning of my consciousness, which consciousness seemed to awaken mostly in the presence of attractive women. Sue me. Indeed, as much as pipes mean to me, if I had to give up pipes or women, the pipes would have to go. (On the other hand, if a woman in my life wanted me to give up pipes, the woman would have to go. Go figure.)
One more, very, very important item before this introduction to the project is terminated: this website’s platform is not properly flexible and it is almost impossible for me to write out the chapters beforehand, re-write them, edit them and check for style, etc. That is very bothersome. I take writing as a somewhat sacred exercise, just as books are sacred in the sense that they carry ideas, good or bad. The probability that this will be far less readable than need be the case is upsetting. It is not my intent to put indifferent text in front of you. This is an apology in advance. You really should go get yourself a good book by the many fine authors out there and let me stew, right here, in my own juice.
Marty
P.S. The goal would be to post a new chapter each week…say on Mondays. That will not happen. But it is a goal and failure to achieve it might make me feel guilty enough to be a day, or a week or so late…but maybe better late than never. I also allow myself the freedom to interrupt the flow to type anything else I might want on this page. It’s my page.